The Tales of Knockturn Alley
by JPx
Summary: An anthology of short stories revolving around the seedier side of the Harry Potter universe. OCs, murder, dark, light, and so much more. Original idea inspired by Frank Miller's Sin City.
1. The Death of Johnny Salem by JPx

Ok, a brief summary: The Tales of Knockturn Alley is an anthology of short stories with the common thread of the location. I wanted to do this in the seedier side of the HP universe because I just find it interesting. These were supposed to have been up on Friday April 1st for the release of Sin City (very good movie) but sometimes things just don't work out the way they are supposed to. Anyway, read...enjoy...review ; )

Disclaimer: Almost everything in this story is mine with the exception of the names ofKnockturn Alley, Borgin and Burkes, spells,and Death Eaters. Johnny is my creation for an original story, so please don't steal him, he likes his home.

* * *

The Death of Johnny Salem

The Tales of Knockturn Alley

JPx

_DING!_

The door was rigged to a bell. A muggle system of letting someone know a customer had entered the shop. Ingenious really, but oddly out of place in the magical world. The shop keeper, a portly balding man came to the front, his gray hair flying out of control to the sides in a classic horseshoe pattern. His shirt was buttoned half way up exposing a hairy gray chest. A thick gold chain baring a gold crucifix finished what this man obviously called 'fine taste'. He eyed the man who had entered his shop.

"You can't smoke in here ya bloody prick!" he exclaimed in a hoarse voice.

The newcomer smiled at him, a flashing smile, teeth perfect, and he took one last drag. Then he took the butt, smile fading into a grimace, he flicked the cigarette in the shopkeeper's face.

The butt exploded into a shower of red when it collided with the guy's forehead. He cursed under his breath, coming to his senses he grasped for his wand that resided in his pocket.

When he looked up a silver and black muggle contraption was staring back at him. Dealing in illegal wares in both the magical and mundane world he knew very well that this was a gun, and it would end his life before he could catch his breath.

While the shopkeeper stared hopelessly at the predicament in front of him, the brown haired man who couldn't be older than seventeen flicked his right hand and summoned the other man's wand to him.

"Jesus," he said in some kind of American accent, a hint of the south in him, "you fuckin' people still carry wands?"

The shopkeeper peeled his eyes off the barrel of the gun and into the steel blue eyes of the man, no wait, kid in front of him. Those eyes could haunt you.

"You sound American, you must carry one of those wandless things," he said, trying to regain some kind of composure.

"Ya think? Moron, it's not like there is an abundance of mystic animals that we can steal parts off of. And it's called an amp, like most things, we improved on what you guys set up." He replied.

"Improved? How do you mean?" the shopkeeper asked, trying to stall for time to find a way to escape.

"I could cast a killing curse and pull the trigger at the same time; no one would be able to figure out which one killed ya."

Sweat began to manifest itself onto the older man's brow. A panic invaded its way into his pupils. Helplessness washed over the features of his face.

The younger kid gave a half grin.

"Take whatever you want," the shopkeeper finally choked out, "the money's in the till, please, just don't kill me."

Switching tactics completely the kid of average build went into business mode, the gun still aimed at the old man's head, "I am looking for a crest, this crest would be silver with a capital N engraved into the middle. On either side of the letter would be an emerald and a bloodstone. This crest would be on a silver chain that is unbreakable." The kid cocked his head, "Have you seen this crest?"

The shopkeeper's panic flashed into confusion. What the boy wanted sounded familiar, but he had never seen it. "No, I have never heard of it!"

"Liar," the kid said in a low icy voice, he cocked the hammer.

"I have never seen it," the shopkeeper broke into tears, "rumors I have heard, but never seen it or heard where to find it!"

The kid stared at the man with those piercing blue eyes. Letting the seconds tick by, then he uncocked the gun. "Very well, if you manage to get your grubby little hands on it, I expect you to hold on to it for me."

The shopkeeper nodded his head weakly. As the kid turned to exit the shop curiosity overcame the man. "Wh-What's your name?"

"Johnny, Johnny Salem."

Johnny left the shop and lit up another cigarette with his Zippo. The clang of the metal closing somehow made him feel better. The sky was gray, a clap of thunder boomed in the distance.

"Fucking England," he muttered under his breath. He pulled his hooded leather coat that he had custom made closer to him. The coat hid his pistol, and his amp seemed to fade into the material. Johnny glanced up and down the place that was called an alley but was really a town. He needed a place to stay as he searched for the crest. Upon seeing what could be called a 'nice' place to stay he began to approach it.

On his way a guy bumped into him, "Watch it you tit!" the man said.

"Fuck you punk," Johnny replied.

The guy started to reach for his wand, with another familiar flick of the wrist Johnny held the man's wand.

"Give that back," the man said, desperation creeping into his voice.

"Alright," Johnny held the wand up and snapped it, then threw the two pieces to him, "there ya go."

Johnny started to walk again; he heard the footsteps running up behind him. At the last second to not get tackled Johnny spun, grabbed the man by the robes and tripped him to the ground. Johnny leaned down too his muggle gun sliding to his hand pointing at the guy's head in one smooth motion.

"You shoulda cut your loses," Johnny said as he squeezed the trigger.

"Whaddiya wan?" the old man asked behind his counter, unbreakable glass separating him from the customers.

"A room," Johnny said, like it should have been obvious.

"No shat you twat, 'ow long fer?"

"Indefinitely you mean old shit."

"Is figh gallins a nigh, need ten down," he replied with a glint in his eye.

"And what would that be in US dollars?"

"Like I woul know tha, git ta tha bank if ye ain't got no real money."

"Jesus Christ I just want a room. How about five hundred for the week. That's more money than you could make in a month."

"Hmm, al'righ al'righ, cash up front."

Johnny grimaced as he slid five one hundred dollar bills under the glass in the little concave allowing transactions.

"Thank ye," the old man said in his wheezy voice.

"Yeah, fuck you," Johnny said, not enjoying his day at all.

Johnny fished out the key to room 23, his home until he found the crest. He slipped it in and turned the key…and nothing happened. He turned the handle, the door was still locked. He tried the key again to have the same results. Finally losing patience he kicked the door…hard. It flew open much to his satisfaction.

He entered the room, pulled out a shrunken duffle bag from his pocket, re-enlarged it, and threw it by the closet. He fished in another pocket of his jacket and pulled out a cell phone. It was heavily modded to work around magic, as well as having a never ending battery life. It also would never lose reception, no mater where he was.

He punched in the numbers and waited.

"_Yeah?"_

"It's me," Johnny replied into his phone.

"_Where ya at?" the gravely voice came through._

"Some shithole called the Silent Sleepaway."

"_You find it yet?" the voice came through with a hard edge._

"I'm looking, a possible lead."

"_You find it Johnny; you find it or don't come home."_

"I won't let you down."

"_You better not, I'm not sure your poor mother could stand another son to die."_

Johnny let his silence acknowledge the threat.

_The voice continued, "Call back when you have something to call about."_

"Alright, I'll…" but the line was now dead. Johnny continued into the dead line, "Bye dad…"

Johnny left his hotel to continue his search for the Crest of Nadia. The crest his father was frantically searching the world for. Supposedly the crest would protect anyone who wore it from just about anything. His father was a Cowan (non-magical person/American slang) with a magical son. He was also a billionaire from conning and cunning his way through both worlds. After making many many enemies in two different worlds his dad was becoming paranoid.

Last semester Johnny learned about the Crest of Nadia in his European Magical History class. It had reportedly last been seen in Great Britain. Therefore, Johnny's dad thought it was a great idea for his son to spend his summer vacation abroad.

Johnny didn't like the idea at all, but when you have a ruthless billionaire father you usually don't turn down a request. So here Johnny was, in England, in bad weather, talking to rude people, standing outside a place called Borgin and Burkes, and hating every minute of hit.

With a small sigh he opened the door.

The man running the shop came out from a backroom. He was oily looking, almost slimy. Johnny hated that the man couldn't control his appearance. Johnny may have been a killer with no remorse, but at least he didn't look like one.

"I'm looking for a crest that…"

"I know what you are looking for. You won't find it here, and you won't find a lapdog to search for it for you here either," the man bit off.

"I take it someone has contacted you," Johnny said in a smirk. He liked having clout after only being here a day.

"Yeah, he's doing your searching. But as for me, you can get your little arrogant ass out of my store."

Johnny frowned. He didn't like being talked down to; he could easily dispose of the man behind the counter. Before he could act on his thoughts the man spoke again,

"And don't even think about pulling out your toy, or making any sudden movements with your hand. You pissed off some powerful people by killing that guy in the street. Try anything funny and I'll have them come down on you. Hard," the man finished emphasizing the word hard.

"Fine, I'm not trying to cause trouble," Johnny said almost gritting his teeth, "but if you see the crest before I do…"

"I'll let my friends know, since they want it too."

Johnny had to issue all of his self control not to kill the man and just walk outside. Once outside he still had to control himself to not burn the building down. If the man spoke the truth he now had enemies on his tail. If they were associates he'd probably be calling them right now. He had to move, he had to find the crest, and he had to do it now.

Once in a side alley Johnny heard several pops and cracks. He was right, the guy had called his friends and they were teleporting in. Johnny flicked his wrist and had the comforting pistol in his hand. With a flick of his other wrist he was invisible. He knew it would be safer to just leave, get back to his room and regroup. But he needed Intel first. If he had to go up against these people, he needed to know what he was going to be in for.

He silently made his way through the street. Some sort of cult or army type personnel had made their way to his location. They all shared the same type of uniform. Black cloaks, black masks, and silver around the eyes and mouth, they sort of resembled Rorschach tests.

Johnny cringed as they started to sweep the area. Half of them seemed to be looking for him, the rest started to sweep shops, obviously they wanted to find the crest first. Johnny cursed under his breath and started moving away from them, being careful to not run into anybody. Finally he was far enough away he teleported back to his room.

He grabbed his duffle bag and reshrunk it so it would fit in his pocket. He checked the rest of his pockets for extra clips and a couple of his knives. He had a bad feeling this would all end ugly.

After clearing his room Johnny was back on the street. The ghost faces (as he was calling them) were all down the road. Johnny not wanting the confrontation yet headed the other way. He would have to sweep every store in hopes of finding the crest first and then getting away. If luck was in his favor he could get away without too much more bloodshed.

He quickened his pace, not enough to give him away as someone in a rush, but fast enough to be called "purposeful". He needed an old resell shop; that would be the best bet. Down the almost abandoned road Johnny swept each window looking for anything that was old and that looked valuable. He grimaced at the second sex shop to enter his view.

Then at the end of the road a shop that held promise entered his view. It was across from a nondescript bar called The Gray Haven; it held many ancient artifacts within its main window. He quickened his pace as he recognized some of the ghost faces coming his direction.

He jerked the door open and entered. He noted that no one else was present at the time so he frantically started scanning the aisles, searching the walls. Many crests were present, many chains too, and then his training kicked in. Concentrating hard on what he needed he held up his right hand.

"_Accio_ _Crest of Nadia_!" he called to the store.

To his satisfaction a small metal pendant zoomed from the bottom of a box that was lining the far wall. Johnny smiled at his luck. He was sure his whole summer would have been spent in England but this wonderfully odd town called an alley had blessed him today.

Now he needed to teleport home and he'd be home free. Not only free, but in the blessing of his father. Closing his eyes Johnny concentrated on his destination only to find his feet solidly on the floor.

Anti-Teleportation Protections, this definitely was not good. In a blink Johnny's gun was in his hand. He turned to see the door opening. The ghost faces had him. A stream of green light was speeding towards him. Instinctively he held up his hand.

The killing curse hit the crest. Johnny was thrown back ten feet into the wall behind him. The crest sparkled in his limp hand. The caster trying to kill him laughed with glee, this had been easier than they thought. The Death Eaters started towards the fallen boy, they needed the crest, and their master would have nothing but praise for them.

Before anyone could reach him the gun was up. Loud bangs echoed throughout the store as Johnny shot. He was weary from the blast and the resulting fall, but his hand was steady enough to hit at least one of his targets. Blood issued from the ghost face's head in a splatter on the wall behind him. Priceless artifacts now diminishing in value from the crimson offense.

Johnny counted quickly, thirteen enemies now. A rainbow of colors began to fly his way. Green, red, amber. He dodged, casting shielding spells along the way, he also used his amp or the crest to swat spells away that came too close.

"KILL HIM!" one of them shouted the command. Johnny smirked, he now knew the leader.

Johnny fired two more precise shots at the man who dodged behind a row displaying various weapons. He then fired an explosion hex towards the display of elegant swords and knives. The spell traveled so quickly none of the other ghost faces could help deflect the spell as it hit its target. Blades flew around the store nicking a few of the masked enemies he was facing.

Johnny grinned as the smoke cleared; the leader had been impaled by one of the blades.

"NO!" an anguished cry issued from behind the mask of another of Johnny's enemies. The scream had been female, there was probably a connection but Johnny didn't care. He looked at the woman and laughed.

It was odd really, the battle just stopped for a moment as Johnny laughed at the loss of his enemy. Provoking their emotions into a deep anger. This, Johnny knew, would force them into making mistakes. Then without warning a spell hit him from behind.

Pain. Pure and perfect pain coursed throughout his body. His entire nervous system seemed to catch on fire. It felt like a million knives cutting his skin at once, then being bathed in salt. Johnny knew the Cruciatus Curse; it was a favorite of his father's. He didn't know if he cried out during the torment, but when it was lifted it was hard to try and stand again. As he did he flicked his right wrist and sent a killing curse at another of his masked assailants.

None of the Death Eaters had expected that a boy so young could fight this well. The curse was the fastest that they had ever seen. It struck and another heap of black robes hit the ground. Johnny wasn't sure at this point if he could escape with his life, but if he wasn't he was going to take as many with him as he could.

Then he remembered the crest, and what powers it was supposed to hold. He started to slip it around his neck when he heard three people shout.

If the Cruciatus Curse was bad, three was unbearable. All along his body his skin did actually open in slits. Johnny's blood wept from his open wounds to the floor bellow him. Every muscle in his body constricted so tightly that if he did live he'd be sore for weeks, if not months. He would need months, if not years, of physical therapy just to walk straight again. His brain seemed to catch on fire, and he was sure he cried out this time.

"Give us the crest, and you might live another day," a muffled voice called to him.

Johnny weakly smiled as he summoned every ounce of magic that he could. Slowly he built it all up into his right hand. The five gems glowed with all the magic surrounding them now. He held his amp hand palm up, a little black ball of magic the size of a pearl was pulsating above it. None of the ghost faces looked like they knew what was going on. Suddenly one jumped as they recognized the spell.

"EVERYONE OUT NOW!" he called as he started to run for the door.

A small smile appeared on Johnny's face. A deep calm washed over his broken body. He slipped the necklace over his head, even if he knew nothing could save him now. Six Death Eaters were still in the building as a silent explosion rocked the neighboring buildings.

After all the debris had been cleared and everyone had been questioned by Aurors, nothing had been resolved. The mangled bodies of eight Death Eaters had been found in the rubble. Along with them the shop owner had been found in a back room. It appeared that he had been sleeping. Two Death Eaters were found outside of the building but still in the blast radius. The Daily Prophet had reported the strange happenings and even speculated on what had gone on, but no one was any closer to the truth.

To this day the Crest of Nadia has not been found. Mr. Salem in America still has parties searching for the priceless artifact nonstop. The billionaire was right to believe that his ex-wife couldn't handle another of her children's death. She was found dead two weeks after the events in Knockturn Alley, overdosed on sleeping pills.

Johnny Salem has a tombstone in a cemetery in East Texas. No one visits and flowers have never been left on his empty grave.

To this day the body has not been found.


	2. Dreams of a Dark Knight by Silverlocke98...

Well! I must say, it's been an honor to be asked to join an anthology. For those of you who do not know me, I am Silverlocke980, word-weaver and talespinner extraordinaire, come here to add what little I can to the mix of stories and skills that are met here. So, to those of you I know... to those of you I don't... and to those of you I never will know, welcome.

Just one note, before entering everything proper. Besides having no rights or authority to Harry Potter, I also have figured out a way to skip Fanfiction's Quick Edit system. The letters KT, capitalized, bold, and in italics, will represent a break in the story. I thought it appropriate to end each section in KT... and begin them too.

This story is a spin-off of an idea I once had, and- combined with the general setting of this anthology- it has gained a life of its own. Oddly, it was the very fact that I had never seen a story in which the Golden Trio- Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as we know them- stumbled into Diagon Alley with any success/seriousness/plot line involved, that made me dream of this...

And so, now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, wild men and lovers and secret bearers and secret revealers. Welcome to...

KNOCKTURN ALLEY!

SHOWTIME!

Harry Potter

**Tales of Knockturn Alley**

Dreams of a Dark Knight

_It's cold here, in this city that never sleeps. Of course, I guess I can't really say that without some form of copyright interfering- hell, isn't New York the city that never sleeps?- but in the end, I guess it's true. But then again, it's not. After all, this place sleeps._

_Doesn't it? I mean, if it didn't..._

_Then why can't I shake this feeling that sometimes it has bad dreams? And that, every now and then, it dreams up a real corker... And that, sometimes..._

_Those corkers can be _nightmares?

_**KT**_

It was supposed to be a darker night, for this young man. It was supposed to be a darker night, one where he couldn't shake off the feeling of something going on around him and something behind his back. None of his friends could shake the feeling; Hermione herself had felt it, staying up half the night with goosebumps on her arms, ready to blast the first thing that moved in to her sight. She'd already pointed her wand at several of their group, and almost attacked several of them by accident before Harry finally told her to settle down, and Remus had put a small mix of herbs into her night tea so that she could relax more. She'd just barely fallen asleep before Ron left. Snape had mentioned that if Hermione was so nervous and jumpy, Ron should be out of his pants with fear by now; but Ron had felt nothing, and only pretended a sense of general unease. In truth, he felt nothing.

Nothing.

Ron was not a man to hate. He never had been. He was a man, supposedly born to live and love, always ready with a smile and a joke or a good dose of over-played fear that somehow made his party members not feel so afraid, who lived to be happy. Ron did not hate; Ron loved. Ron loved the justice of the idea they fought for, loved the other members of his group in a way that almost kept them together by itself (though Harry's leadership and ability to communicate with all their disparate members was what really held them together; Ron's loyalty merely made things easier for him, smoothed things over, let them talk it out), and never, ever, mocked anything that the others held holy. Snape, for instance, found something in a small glimpse of a copse of deadened trees that made him stop for a moment; though Lupin heckled him, Ron motioned for them to go on, and stayed with Snape. After a few moments, Snape had walked off. Ron said nothing. He trusted him enough to know that whatever it was, it was important to him, and that had always been enough.

But...

Lately, Ron had wondered (in his own soul, way deep down where the almost preternaturally psychic Kingsley Shacklebolt could not sense it; it was Ron's first attempt at hiding something from others, and though successful, he thought his shield weakened every day) whether there was anything that was important to him. Whether he would ever be able to stare at a glimpse of half-seen things and, for just one second, dream.

He got his wish. But that's a separate note.

_**KT**_

_There have always been places in this world where, for some reason, powers gather. There are always many reasons given for this; some say it's because God looked upon that place and smiled, and it became light. Some say that Fate, passing by, happened to brush its hand against a place, and so it received power. Some even say that a powerful wizard was born there or that some other mighty event took place, and so the memory of that greatness echoes down throughout the ages. I do not know._

_I do know this, however. There are places in this world where that which cannot be is, and where the past can reach out and give part of itself- good or bad, black or white, Light or Darkness- to the future. Where futures are made and broken, and where one word said can have more weight than the speeches of a thousand men._

_One of these places happens to exist in Knockturn Alley. It is a small bar, a little out-of-the-way place, where a few men and women come to drink and hide. It is notable for many reasons, one of them the odd conjunction of its light and shadows; the two seem to have reached an agreement, and that agreement is to work together to put everything in the bar into stark contrasts. When the two wish to hide something, they work together to make it so; the lights brighten and shadows become darker, and the whole room becomes impossible to see. Yet..._

_If they want to reveal something, then the darkness merely makes the light fall in harsher contrasts, almost forcing people out of the gloom, as though they were cut there, from obsidian bricks or blocks of purest black stone; and when something is thus revealed, it cannot be kept out of sight._

_So it was when Ron stepped into the bar, and the tiny thing underneath the table in the corner of the bar gleamed._

_**KT**_

Ron knew not why he entered the bar; he was too young to drink and had too much knowledge of its possible effects to think much about it anyway, he was too far from his companions to seek help if he was attacked here, and he had too much riding on him to risk losing such a fight and possibly getting killed. He was not a man to seek out a woman's pleasures; the very thought of such a thing actually scared Ron, for fear of not being able to please a woman and be thought of as a lesser man. He was not a drug user, nor was he looking for a fight. So why had he stepped in here?

Ron looked about and saw only a few people in the bar. No one here would know him. Thankfully. The party had to be kept secret, and though traveling with Harry Potter made that slightly harder (doing away with his glasses and using a small cowl to hide his face made that easier, though; Hermione magicked his eyes into being perfect, hard to do but well worth the effort, as nobody had recognized Potter yet, despite their wanderings), it was better to be a nobody no one knew about. He half-remembered a conversation he'd just heard in his party, a few days ago...

_Remember that last town we were at, Harry? All the people knew Hermione because her parents had been there, and what a mess _that_ had made... funnier than hell, wasn't it, trying to get them to shut up about it?_

_Tonks... I remember it as being distinctly _not_ funny._

_Oh, you're just a spoilsport, Shacklebolt. Just because we're trying to save the world from ultimate evil doesn't mean I can't have fun while we're at it..._

_No, Tonks, it means that you have to remember not to annoy your party members, or you will wake up with a slit throat._

_Hah! Humor, out of Mr. Shacklebolt! Oh, yes, this trip just got better! Woo-hoo! Go, Kingsley!_

_Ms. Tonks... do kindly shut up. _

_Yes, Mr. Snape._

The party had been making a long circle about England, starting near Hogwarts and moving south, eschewing the roads in favor of dirt trails as they went, turning west when they hit the coast and following it as far as they could, the party had managed to make an entire circuit of England and come back here, to old Alleys Diagon and Knockturn, ready in a few days to report back to Albus both all they'd seen and all they'd fought. Albus had sent them out to fight this war specifically as guerilla warriors, and their job as a special strike team had went marvelously well. Their resident military expert, Ron's big brother, Bill, had even said that they were like the commandos of the Muggle world, in their own way. Battles were getting fiercer here; Muggles were beginning to catch on that meteors couldn't be raining from the sky _that_ often, and when they found the scorched patches of ground that usually indicated a Wizard fight, they almost always called the police. And the police brought the news.

These "burn scars", a hideously ironic name that always made Ron shudder when he heard it, had begun to be thought of by the Muggles as signs of alien invasion, or possibly a Chinese attack. Ron had no idea how the Chinese fit into it (he thought, from what little he knew of Muggle politics, that China was busy dealing with a crazed dictator in North Korea, or some other such thing), but he understood the increase of the war all too well. It was even affecting the natural world. Grin-souls, a hideous black flower that seemed to smile at you when you looked at it, were coming back. They only grew on ground that had been soaked with the blood of Wizards- and then only when slain in combat with another. They had not been seen in fifteen years, ever since Harry was born. Now, though, they were becoming all too common again. Ron killed them whenever he saw them. He didn't think such bastard things had a right to exist.

They always just smiled back at him when he tore them apart. It always bothered him, that damn grin. Like they knew something and you didn't. Or you were the funniest joke they had seen in a long time.

Ron staggered about for a while, the lights and darkness alternatively confusing and blinding him, but in the end, he found a seat. Somehow, he'd ended up near the right corner nearest the door. He plopped down in the small seat there, wtihout another word.

_Years from then he would think back and wonder if he hadn't been guided there. Whether some great Voice had spoke to him in words that could not be heard and asked him to sit in that seat. And if, in his own heartfelt way, he had not said yes._

He sat down lightly, gently. The long days of travel, of minutely arranging every detail, of learning that at times you have got to be quicker or better than your fellow man to avoid getting killed... all of it conspired to make Ron the quietest man in the room. Ron sat down... Ron became quiet. Ron did not speak up. Ron did not move.

His cloak briefly brushed against something. He looked down and his eyes widened at what he saw.

_A very long time ago, someone told Ron that there was only Light and Darkness in the world. That person was right... sort of. In their own way, Light and Darkness are the only two things in the universe... but that's when you are speaking of them spiritually. In that sense, a hell of a lot of people know them better as Good and Evil._

The helmet was huge; it gave the impression of vastness, of size. Ron could almost sense the gravity of the thing, as if it had a weight so concrete that it could drag all reality down with it. Ron looked at it, and realized that he could see other things too: knights standing in the rain, the shouts of men, the cries of darkness. A voice crying out Black Sky, and the world raining fire. A man, speaking in a tongue not his own, blood dripping from his arm as he slung out his sword at nothingness and sent evil flying back. A man, dying, giving his life to strike one last time at a crippled and wounded dragon, his body bursting into holy light as darkness became light in his soul and struck out while he died.

Ron bent over and picked the helmet up. He never was sure what he had been thinking at the time later; maybe he only wanted to see it. But every now and then, he thought that maybe it was because he saw in it a way to buck his own destiny.

_Ron figured it out; the feeling in him was that of normality. He felt too normal, in a world of destined heroes and genius women and powerful Aurors running around to save the world. He was no Auror; he was not even a spy, like Snape was. He was merely a person._

_All that was about to change._

Ron put the helmet on. He questioned it only once, and shut the question up in a torrent of roars. It felt as though the very bedrock of his soul rose up and put the darkness to shame. And then the helmet was on his face, and he was greater darkness. White darkness.

_A long time ago, Light and Darkness met. Light was Good; Darkness was Evil. But one tiny Darkness- one not connected with the bigger Darkness, one not totally consumed yet in its evil- almost wanted to be part of Light. And when it met the Light- when this tiny darkness strove to defeat the One Great Light, as all pathetic Darknesses do- the Light had pity on it. And that pity became Good._

_The little Darkness started to glow white, and was happy. And soon enough, that very Darkness had children. And it named them its own._

Ron felt the change rush over him; felt the knowledge of past years and former days enter his mind, his body, his soul. He felt strength flow into his limbs; he felt experience toughen his hands. He felt more thoughts enter his mind; he felt more souls, already dead, reach out and touch him across time. He felt holy.

And in that one moment, he knew.

_Fate weaves its strands across time; no one knows why it bothers to, nor what destiny it will bring. God alone has any concept of how, when, why, where, or what Fate will do with its times; and sometimes, God has an answer._

_Fate always puts forth the statement "You must". God puts out the statement "You can"._

_And sometimes, the people listen to the latter, and change._

_Nobody is ever normal after something like that again._

In the end, Ron left the bar, walking out, ignoring it again almost entirely, pretty much forgetting it was there. With the odd and yet not absurd, not funny, greatly serious and powerful helm still striding atop his shoulders, Ron walked hom.

_**KT**_

_Ron and his companions became famous. Though Harry was always supposed to have been at school, he was too powerful to leave somewhere learning while the War was being fought; that, and the fact that Harry was the only person who could kill Voldemort and end the suffering drove him to leave. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Tonks, Shacklebolt, Snape, Bill, and a few scattered Aurors with them (Mad-Eye being one of them, and possibly the greatest), they set out to save the world._

_Each one of them changed; none of them were ever able to remember that summer without thoughts of nostalgia again. Kingsley spent a lot of time in his later life just remembering that summer, and to him, much of it was more real than the wife that was sitting beside him, or the kids playing in the yard. In a way, it was. Mad-Eye told them (before his death, anyway) that they were the only times when he was able to drop his terrible fear and, for once, be free. Even Hermione, despite the great introvertedness that she grew into as she got older, was never able to think of those days without somehow wishing she could go back to them. They were good days; they were spiritual ones. None of them were ever as in touch with their souls as they were on their wild journey to destroy evil._

_Ron changed the most. The helm he found was the helm of the last Dark Knight, a great hero whose name was Arthur- legends were told of him throughout time. The helm was not the source of power in and of itself, but something higher- an emissary of the small Darkness that, for once, wanted to be Light. The creature the helm put Ron in contact with had once been known as a Baelrog, a demon of fire and suffering and hate, but something holy had made the creature Good, and when it contacted him, it was sometimes known as the White Steed. Ron talked with it often, as it taught him the powers of a Dark Knight._

_Ron revived the practice in the world; he recruited many who would fight on for Good. A Dark Knight's power is their curse; their gift is simple, but deadly. It is only this. If a Dark Knight so chooses, they may give up a portion of their life in sacrifice to help someone in need. And..._

_If a Knight so chooses, they can die and become light. It was this power that saved the companions in the end._

_Ron and the companions had killed Voldemort, but of all people, Bellatrix Lestrange was able to round up the scattered bands of Death Eaters and call them to her command. She built a fort in the north, and called it the Riddle Keep- funny, considering she actually did not know Voldemort's real name, and had only thrown the name out, seemingly at random, at a committee meeting with some of her officers- and when the best of the Ministry's attacks had failed, the great warriors who had slain Voldemort appeared to make their stand. They flew in and out of what soon became hell._

_The fight had been going badly; they were all hurt and dying. Bellatrix herself came out only for the last, to mock and to gloat. Ron raised himself up and looked at her, and grinned._

_No one has ever heard what, exactly, did happen there on that day. No Death Eaters survived the keep to tell of it, and none of the other heroes ever spoke of it, for their own reasons. But a few hints have dropped, and this we know._

_Ron rose up and screamed out words in a language not his own. And as he died, as he felt his body crumble away beneath him, he felt something else. And he began to laugh._

_He was light._

_Light poured throughout the keep, burned away the darkness, shattered the walls and broke down the stone. Bellatrix screamed. Her face was torn off by the power of the light burning from Ron's very soul. It was standing by itself, Ron's dead corpse below it, laughing and singing as power beyond itself flowed through it. It looked much like him, but different- just like him, yet perfect. Like someone had done a Ron Redux and made all his attributes pure, and clean, and beautiful to look at. And then..._

_Something happened. Snape, the only member of the party conscious at the time, caught only a glimpse of it when the light broke. But somehow, he thought, he saw angel wings fly out the back of Ron's form, and Ron taken into light through a door that appeared out of nowhere, rimmed in fire and gold. Then Snape passed out._

_They all woke up an hour later, healed of all their wounds, in the middle of the ruins that were all that remained of Bellatrix Lestrange's castle. And there, in the middle, lying dead next to his wand, was Ron._

_On his face, beautiful and peaceful, heartwrenching and tearful, was a smile._

_Ron became more than normal; he became extraordinary. And when his companions finally died, when they finally caught the last train home, they found him waiting for them there. And when they all stood together again, he found his worst fears destroyed; he found he could stand beside them, and not be ashamed._

_Light._


	3. The Hard Way by JPx

Disclaimer Number One: Knockturn Alley, Death Eaters, Aurors, and spells in this fanfiction are not my property. The main characters are though.

Disclaimer Number Two: This short story is about the sexual abuse of children, if you find the subject offensive please read with caution. It definitely is not a pretty picture. I'm not trying to be gratuitous, but this happens. It is indeed a sad fact.

* * *

The Hard Way

The Tales of Knockturn Alley

JPx

Firewhiskey and Muggle whiskey share two traits. One, they burn on the way down. Two, they both get you drunk.

Morgan Calloway was a wizard, an Auror, and a man of little faith. Currently he was in his office staring at the board he had made on the wall. A map of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley with little colorful dots etched on both. Red was for the bodies of children found dead…there were six of them. Green was for a child found raped, but alive; he counted the all too familiar twelve.

Morgan reached into his robes for the flask of alcohol he had taken to carrying with him everywhere he went. Inside was a cunning mix of Ogden's and Jack Daniels. He unscrewed the top and took a long swig. He usually preferred rum, but he was out of rum.

He stared at the map, but his mind was drifting. He thought about needing to start working out again, the fifty pounds he had gained in the past few months bugged him. He thought about his soon to be ex-wife. He had hit her a couple of times in a drunken stupor, she of coarse was leaving. He thought about his last case, the one that brought upon the drinking habit.

It was supposed to be simple, a sweep of a store in Knockturn Alley, they were looking for dark artifacts. Arthur Weasley had some intelligence on the case since some of the items were Muggle in nature. He and his partner entered at precisely the wrong time.

A Death Eater meeting was being held. The two Aurors never even had a chance. His partner of ten years took an _Avada Kedavra_ in the chest. Morgan managed to take cover in time. In his panic not a single curse left his wand.

What did happen was he apparated out of there. If he had gone to the Ministry first all in the world would still have a chance to be right. But he was scared, and the first place he had thought of was home. By the time he _did_ get to the Ministry for backup it was too late. The Death Eaters were gone.

Morgan took another drink from his flask before replacing it into his robes. He hated this, his life, this case, everything. Some sicko was roaming the street putting kids under the Imperious Curse and having sex with them. Afterwards, he would kill them sometimes. The very thought of this had made him physically ill on more than one occasion.

He glanced at the map again; it was time to do some legwork.

A small _pop_ later and Morgan was in Knockturn Alley. All twelve kids who lived through what would become their most horrendous moments of life were found here. The dead kids were all left in Diagon Alley for some clueless mother shopping with her own children to stumble upon. Morgan didn't have a clue as to where to begin, he didn't have a clue about who was doing this, but he could feel the consuming hate fill him as he knew the guy was around here somewhere.

As he began entering stores and questioning people his mind wandered to some of the things he heard while working this case. The kids were raped, all eighteen of them. The twelve girls were put under the imperious curse and their young minds were forced to do the sick things this guy wanted them to do. All the questionings had been the same, he wore a Death Eater mask, he never showed his face, and they couldn't remember anything that would distinguish this guy from any other guy in the two alleys. He had killed the six boys that he had raped. It was a small pattern to say the least, but maybe it was something that Morgan could work with.

All day long Morgan buried himself in searching aimlessly for the creep he hated. He knew it was probably hopeless, but he had to still try. Not for the first time he wished he could find the guy and when he did that he might be authorized to use unforgiveables. His head office was holding on to that privilege just for wartime. But from what he had been hearing all day, it _was_ wartime.

Tired of the day, Morgan apparated back to his office, he needed to fill out the paperwork before he could officially check out and go home.

Filing, done, go home, done, catch the only case he could get and try to prove to his superiors that he was still worth a damn, not even close. Morgan scanned the flat he was forced into renting. He still had to pay for the home his wife lived in, now this. The Ministry did not pay that well.

The walls were bare; he opened his refrigerator to find his alcoholic release. Whiskey, but not one hint of food was present. He grabbed the whiskey and sat in his recliner. With a wave of his wand his Wizarding Wireless was playing an old jazz song. It was slow, and it filled Morgan to his very soul.

Ten shots later, and his foggy mind replayed even more of what had happened in this hellish case. The Obliviators had informed him that memory charms could not be put on the girls. This son of a bitch had placed memory locks on them; the locks were rooted into their central brain. If they their rape was obliviated, they would in turn forget how to breathe.

This all told Morgan one thing, this guy was good. Probably too good to be caught by an overweight Auror who couldn't get from his chair to his whiskey without breathing heavy. He took his eleventh shot and let the fog hit him with even more force as he passed out in his favorite chair.

"You're late!" Morgan's boss's voice echoed through his poor throbbing hung-over head.

"Sorry…" he grumbled not sorry at all. It was lucky that he hadn't called in.

"We have a new development in your case," the wizard with gray hair responded testily.

"What's that?" Morgan perked up a little.

"Missing kid, Holly Welcher, age ten, went missing this morning while shopping with her mother. I have two teams already searching for her, but…she went missing around the entrance of Knockturn. We need you there to help; we think it's your guy. Here's her picture."

Morgan nodded as his boss walked away. He looked at the young girl with straight sandy blonde hair. Her hair parted in the middle so you could see the eyes that held all the happiness and hope in the world. She smiled at him, a smile that could lift even the darkest of souls. He reached into his robes and took another swig from his almost empty flask.

"Here we go," he said to himself and vanished with a small _pop_.

No matter how many times he visited the dank row of shops Morgan could never get used to the feel of the place. The smell lingering around his face suggesting that illegal wares was around him. The prickling on the back of his neck suggesting that someone had taken an interest in watching him. That feeling in the pit of his stomach, that one that signaled danger was around him.

A blind man…or a man without any eyes seemingly watched Morgan as he leaned against an abandoned shop, his eyeless sockets following where the Auror stepped. An involuntary shiver ran down Morgan's spine.

Morgan reached into his robes and downed the last of what was in his flask. The warm liquid solidified him so he could continue his search. Or begin his search, Morgan didn't really know. Was this actually a new search?

The questions echoed around the head of the man. Questions spawning questions, and not one answer would pop into the poor man's skull. He began his search.

Shop after shop, it was routine. Have you seen this girl? Pull the picture, they would look unconcerned and give some vague answer that resembled 'no'. No one ever really gave straight answers in Knockturn.

Then a break and what was the closest thing to a straight answer that he had had all day.

Morgan had entered the nicest shop in Knockturn Alley and had been greeted by what seemed a kind old man. He knew looks could be deceiving, as well as first impressions. He gripped his wand in his robe's pocket, just in case.

"Yes, I did see her. She was walking towards the Silent Sleepaway with an older man who I presumed was her father. They looked to be tourists…"

Morgan nodded his head grimly and left the shop. Time was of the essence, pleasantries could wait until the girl had been found. Found and hopefully returned to her mother unharmed.

His pace quickened, sweat broke out onto his forehead. The building was only a short distance away, but it was far in his mind. The closest Apparation point was two blocks behind him. The girl's innocent eyes floated into the Auror's mind…he broke out into a run.

Upon arrival of the dark building looming in front of him he slowed. He needed his breath, and all the confidence he could accumulate to get any answers so that he could help the girl. Breathing slightly heavier than he wanted to be he entered the hotel.

"Whaddiya wan?" a wheezy voice asked from behind the glass.

"Have you seen this girl?" Morgan asked pulling out the picture.

"Hmm, maybe, wha's it to ya?" the old man asked in return scratching his chin.

"She's in danger and I need to find her," Morgan pointed to his Ministry crest upon his chest, "don't make me search every room here. Imagine at what I might find."

"Al'righ, al'righ, slow yer horses yung 'un. She'd be in room twinty tree wit sum cunny who seys he's 'er father."

"Got an extra key, I want to do this quietly as possible."

The old man slid a key in the dip under the window as a reply. Morgan nodded his head and headed towards the stairs.

On the third floor was the destination of the Auror. He examined the fairly new lock and pressed his ear to the door. He could hear muffled voices but couldn't really make out anything. He slid the key in and turned, a satisfying click was heard. Morgan turned the knob but nothing happened. Morgan scanned the door with his wand, no magic was holding the door firmly shut, it was merely stuck.

The middle-aged man sighed. It was time to do things the hard way. There was no time to call for backup, he leaned back and then rushed his shoulder into the door.

"SHIT!" he cried as the door barely budged. As quick as he could he recovered himself and kicked the door. It flew open with a resounding thud as it hit the other side of the wall. Wand at the ready Morgan rushed in.

He wanted to puke. A man in nothing but a Death Eater mask was hurriedly trying to get his trousers buttoned. Ten-year old Holly was lying on the bed, panties bunched around her ankles, dress hiked up on her waist. Tears were slipping down her cheeks. Morgan saw blood, but quickly focused on the rapist in front of him. The man was unarmed; if Morgan played by the book he was supposed to get the perpetrator bound and gagged and head him off to the Ministry. Azkaban would surly be waiting for him.

Morgan though, wasn't feeling like playing by the book. In a blind moment of pure unrefined hate he said the first spell that entered his mind.

"_Crucio_!" he said with every emotion welling up in him. The man in the mask fell. His body twitched and withered. Morgan heard the man's teeth grinding, he didn't want to scream. Morgan lifted the curse.

"You don't want to scream?" he flick his wand and the door closed itself. Holly had gotten her clothes back on correctly and was huddled beside the bed. "_Silencio_!" Morgan said casting the charm so sound would not escape. "You'll scream, I'm sure of that…"

After another Cruciatus Curse the man would still not scream. Morgan lost all composure and started a barrage of kicks into the man's abdomen. He grunted with each blow, his trousers came loose and slid down. Morgan was disgusted to see that the other man had an erection.

"You like to rape kids? Well, let's make sure that you won't be doing it any time soon," Morgan said as he released a cutting curse. His aim was true, and the other man screamed as he lost part of himself.

Morgan grinned wickedly as he healed the other man. He released some counter charms to ensure that nothing would ever let him grow his weapon of choice again. Morgan then heard whimpering from the floor. He turned to see a mesmerized Holly.

Her small little voice cracked when she said in a low tone, "Kill him."

Morgan looked into what used to be the bright blue eyes of innocence. Now they were dead blue eyes that held all the sadness in the world. Morgan wanted to let the man live without his manhood for the rest of his days. He wanted to perform at least one more Crucio on the withering pile of worthlessness below him. But he found that he could not deny this girl her only wish.

Morgan nodded his head sadly. He raised his wand…

"Wait!" the man cried out from the floor. "I have information about You-Know-Who!"

Morgan looked at the man, "That can't save you now."

The Auror then brought out all the hate and hurt from his life. He poured it all through himself directed towards his shaking wand.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" the green light hit the man on the floor. His deranged fearful eyes went blank instantaneously.

Footsteps were heard outside the door. Morgan knew what was coming. Six Aurors burst through the door to find their comrade standing above the lifeless rapist. Holly was on the floor hugging her knees with a glint of almost happiness in her now cold dead eyes.

"Morgan, what did you…" but the Auror stopped. It was clear what their teammate had done.

"I'm sorry Morgan, we have to place you under arrest," a different Auror said in remorse.

"NO! He's a hero! You can't arrest him!" Holly said rushing to her feet. She was jerky in her movements; small grunts of pain came from her small frame.

"We have to, he's a murderer."

"HE'S A HERO!"

"Holly," Morgan said, resignation infiltrating his voice, "I'm going to Azkaban. There's no getting around it."

Holly burst into tears as she limped to her hero and hugged the older man. She muffled from his robes, "I'll write you, I swear it."

Morgan nodded as he was led away for his trial.

The events in room twenty three had been recreated in Morgan's trial. Everyone knew the torture that had taken place that fateful day. It didn't take long to find Morgan guilty. It took even less time to sentence him to Azkaban Prison for the minimum of fifteen years. Morgan accepted it all like nothing could faze him. He knew in his heart that he was worth a damn to someone.

Holly even kept her promise. Her letters every week was the only thing he ever looked forward to. She told him that she too could not be obliviated. She would talk of school. She talked about her going to Hogwarts when the time came.

She signed every letter with 'Thank You'.

Holly only had to keep her promise for three years. In his third year of prison Morgan received a shank in the belly by a man he had arrested years previous. The guards of the hellhole that was Azkaban did not care that a prisoner was bleeding out. It took three days of pain and anguish before his body finally gave out.

His funeral was small. A few Aurors showed up, along with some adults that were strangers to the man below them. They were parents, the parents of the dead, the parents of the traumatized. Among the few adults one lone small girl showed up. In her eyes was the sadness of the world. She read the humble tombstone.

'Husband, Auror, Friend'

With a grim smile and a flick of her wand another word was etched below the small epitaph. She nodded to the stone and turned with a tear in her eye as she walked away.

'Husband, Auror, Friend'

'**HERO**'


End file.
